by Lee, Damien
Epilogue
Tyler Lincoln sucked on the Marlboro Light clasped between his lips. He looked around at the countless jets situated around the runway. His aircraft, The Lockheed Martin F-22 Raptor, absorbed the sun’s powerful rays in its sleek, grey body. The black-tinted cockpit concealed the interior, but Tyler knew the layout like the palm of his hand.
He took another drag of the cigarette, contemplating the chaos that the rest of the world had fallen into. The US military’s decision not to respond to the outbreak had left him shell-shocked. But the more he considered it, the more thankful he was that he didn’t have to fly overseas to try to quell it. The prospect of leaving his family behind was too much to bear, yet the idea of them succumbing to the virus was even worse. Despite his reservations, he was happy to contribute towards defending US airspace.
He exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nose and flicked the cigarette butt. He was grinding the smouldering remains beneath his boot when hurried footsteps approached. He turned in time to see his long-time friend, Eddy Frankland, running towards him.
“C’mon, Lincoln, wheels up!” he yelled as he rushed past.
Tyler wasted no time asking for an explanation. He sprinted over to his aircraft and climbed into the cockpit.
“What have we got?” he asked as he pulled on his headgear.
“Bogey entering our airspace in less than five minutes.” The static-filled voice of Frankland replied through the headset. “We need to take it down before it gets over US soil.”
“Take it down? What if it’s a friendly?”
“There are no more friendlies,” Frankland urged.
Tyler shook his head as he busied himself assessing the controls. Before long, the engines roared to life as he prepared to take off.
“Pre-flight check complete. Are you with me?”
“Shit!” Frankland spat, “One of my engines isn’t responding.”
“What?”
“Get up there, dude. We don’t have time.”
Tyler looked over at Frankland’s motionless jet. He couldn’t see inside, but he knew his friend was frantically checking the displays. Without waiting for any further prompts, he taxied towards the runway and took off, listening to the instructions through his earpiece.
“Don’t waste any time, Raptor One. Shoot it down on sight.”
“Where is it?” Tyler asked, scanning the sky in front of him as he ascended higher.
“Co-ordinates being sent.”
Tyler looked at the screen to his right. The display showed the target was only two minutes from land. He banked hard to the left, setting himself on an intercept course with the unidentified aircraft.
“Got him.”
The distant target came into view. He soared past and performed a quick turn. Within seconds he was behind the jet with missiles locked on target. His thumb hovered over the switch as he watched the aircraft. Its shape was unfamiliar, yet it looked capable of greater speeds. That, coupled with the unsteady flight pattern, gave him the impression a novice was piloting it.
“What’s the status, Raptor One?”
He ignored the query as he pulled alongside the jet and established a communication link.
“This is the United States Air Force. You are about to enter restricted airspace. Turn back immediately.” He listened, awaiting a response. When none came, he spoke again. “This is the United States Air Force. Do you copy? You are entering restricted airspace. Turn back now or you will be shot down.”
A clatter came over the transmission as the hurried gasps of a man became clear. “Hello? Hello?”
“Do you copy?” Tyler repeated.
He looked at the display, which showed they were thirty seconds from land. He dropped back, once again tailing his target. His thumb hovered above the switch once more as the man’s pleading cries filled his headpiece.
“Please, help! My wife is sick. She needs medical attention!”
Tyler’s thumb faltered. Images of his own wife at home filled his mind. His heart hammered as a growl sounded from the jet. The man let out a frightened whimper.
“Please!”
Tyler’s heart pounded against his ribs. He knew he had to destroy the aircraft, but his conscience forbade it. His hand trembled, tormented with the choice.
“Raptor One!” The voice from air traffic control sounded over the speakers. “He’s going to be over land any second. Take him out!”
Tyler glanced at the display and knew they were right. He had to act fast.
“I’m sorry.”
He locked the missile’s senses onto the aircraft.
“What? Please, no!”
“I have to.”
“No!”
“I’m sorry.”
“No!”
The jet suddenly nosedived right before his eyes. Tyler blinked and followed its rapid descent. Alerts beeped from his control panel as the force of the manoeuvre threatened to overpower his aircraft. He felt a tightness in his chest as the pressure started to cripple him. He knew he had to pull up. His target was a lost cause. Even if the man could pull out of his suicidal dive, there was no way he could do it in time to regain his altitude.
Tyler dragged the jet back into a horizontal position. Assessing his altitude, he noted he was only a thousand feet from the ground. If he had gone any closer, his attempts to pull back up could have failed. He felt a wave of relief wash over him, but also a flicker of guilt. The man and his wife had perished in what must have been an almighty crash. He breathed deeply, waiting for confirmation of the wreckage. Seconds passed, with no notification from air traffic control. Tyler’s brows creased. There were only a few seconds to spare until impact. The jet had to have crashed by now.
He cast an appraising eye over the wreckage as he descended back to base. Fire burned ferociously as black plumes billowed towards him. The jet had crashed towards the end of the runway. As he watched, the diminutive specks of his colleagues dashed over to the blazing inferno. The carnage that ensued would stay with him forever.
***
Eddy Frankland ran after his comrades as they sprinted towards the wreckage. He knew nobody on board could have survived, but the raging fire burned dangerously close to a fuel supply. If the flames drew closer, more explosions would ensue. The high-pitched whine of an emergency vehicle stole his attention. He turned as the fire truck raced towards him. He recognised the stocky man behind the wheel as Arthur Morris; one of the oldest officers still in active service.
“Morris!”
He waved to halt the vehicle’s progress. The man slowed to a crawl as he drew alongside Frankland, allowing him to jump onto the side. Clinging onto the rail, he looked ahead as the vehicle took off once more.
“Your boy Lincoln is gonna be in deep shit for this one!” Morris yelled through the open window. “His days flying birds are over.”
“No. We’re on red alert and Tyler’s a great pilot. If anything, they’ll have him scraping shit out of the engines for the next two weeks.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Frankland mopped his brow as they neared the wreckage. The scorching temperature of the sun, coupled with the intense blaze, made his skin seep with sweat. He wiped his free hand over his face as the vehicle skidded to a halt.
“Let’s hose her down.”
Morris sent a blast of water flowing onto the wreckage as more trucks arrived. Frankland leapt from the side as the men grabbed the handlines, adding to the stream of water. He looked into the orange screen in a daze. He often found fire to be mesmerising, and despite its destructive capacity, he couldn’t help but feel calmed by its allure. A sudden movement within the flames dragged him back to earth. He looked away from the inferno, at a smaller fire burning to the side. He stared hard as a charred arm emerged from the wreckage.
“Morris! Get that hose over here!”
He turned back to the vehicle and retrieved a fire blanket as Morris aimed the spray overhead.
“What is it?”
he called
“A survivor!”
Frankland rushed over to the body as it scrambled away from the flaming debris. He tried to get near, but the heat was too intense. He turned as Morris raced over in full PPE. The firefighter grabbed the blanket and darted forward. Frankland looked on in horror as the flames devoured the survivor. He guessed she was a woman based on the ashen remains of her clothes, but the flames engulfing her made it difficult to judge. He watched as Morris pounced on the human fireball. The woman screeched and jerked as he smothered her in the grey cloak.
“It’s okay!” he yelled, scooping her up in his arms. But still, the woman screamed, squirming in his grasp. He raced back to the truck with Frankland in tow, before laying her on the ground.
“She’s alive. Help me, will you?”
Frankland stooped down beside the woman. The heat within the blanket was almost overpowering. The woman had ceased her struggles and lay dormant on the ground as the two officers looked on. A loud crack from the wreckage spurred Morris into action.
“I need to put this out. The medics are on the way.”
Frankland nodded, concerned by the woman’s still form. As his comrade dragged the length of hose closer to the crash site, he stooped down next to her face. The smell of burnt flesh stung his nostrils as he drew closer. He stared at the blanket covering her head, wondering what horrors it concealed. If the rest of her body was anything to go by, he imagined her face was a blackened mess. His heart thumped against his ribs. His trembling hand reached forward, grasping the edge of the blanket. It was then that the woman’s head emerged from the folds. It all happened in a flash. His hand inches away from her head, then her face darting out of the blanket and snapping at his fingers.
Frankland yelped in pain. He jumped back, examining the bloody gash on his smallest finger. Blood ran down the side of his hand, reaching his wrist before he wiped it away. He looked back at the woman who lay prone once more. Her blackened face was worse than he had expected. All her features had burned away, leaving a charred, pulpy mass. Her nose, eyelids, and lips had all perished in the flame, giving the woman a skull-like appearance. Despite her immobility, she fixed him with a hungry stare, watching as he tried to stem the blood flow from his hand.
“Well, those guys can sort it now,” Morris announced, motioning towards the other emergency vehicles that had arrived. Frankland glanced over, watching as they doused the wreckage in geysers of water.
“Are you alright?” Morris nodded towards Frankland’s cradled hand. Before he could reply, the sound of engines caused the two men to turn. They watched as a convoy of vehicles arrived.
“It’s about time you guys showed up,” Morris said, stepping towards them. Frankland looked down as the man’s boot came close to the woman’s head. He tried to voice his concern, but she was too quick.
“What the—” Morris staggered as the crazed woman seized his leg. “What’s she doing?”
“Move!” Frankland snapped, but it was too late.
The woman dragged herself closer and clamped her teeth into his leg. The man’s scream echoed around the runway. He hobbled away as the other officers opened fire with semi-automatic rifles. The bullets ripped her remains apart, leaving behind fragments of bone and ash.
“He’s infected.” A senior officer stepped forward, eyeing Morris sternly. “Get him to quarantine, now.”
“What?” Morris gasped, his panic-stricken eyes darting back and forth between the officers. The men stepped forward and grabbed him. “Wait!” Morris stumbled as he was escorted to a waiting vehicle.
“Frankland, are you injured?” The senior officer asked.
“No, sir.” He subtly concealed his injured hand behind his back.
“Good. Get in. I need you to file a report.”
Frankland stepped forward as the door to the armoured vehicle swung open. He jumped inside and sat beside an officer. As the vehicle drove away, he looked down at his clasped hands. He knew what they would do to Morris. It would be the same thing they would do to him if they found out. He also knew what he would become. If their intelligence was correct, it was only a matter of time before he turned into a monster. He closed his eyes and shook the notions out of his head. He had never believed in monsters, nor did he think he would become one. He felt perfectly healthy. His fever he blamed on the sun. His dizziness he blamed on the fumes from the wreckage. And he assumed his insatiable hunger was down to not eating that day; something he planned to rectify as soon as they returned to base.
The End
A LETTER FROM THE AUTHOR
Dear reader,
Thank you so much for purchasing my debut novel. I sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it half as much as I did writing it!
As a new author, I don’t have an extensive following that will help promote my book far and wide. Every review I receive is a massive help in getting my novel noticed. Amazon prioritises books with lots of interest as ‘recommended reading’, so every little helps. On that note, I would be thrilled if you would be kind enough to leave a review. It doesn’t have to be an essay, just a line or two with a rating will be more than enough.
Without a host, The Virus can’t spread, so thank you again for reading!
Damien Lee
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Damien Lee was born in the historic town of Whitby, United Kingdom. His interest in horror started when his father would relay countless ghost stories and local folklore. Naturally, Dracula’s connection with the seaside town did not go unnoticed either.
After reading the Bram Stoker classic, Damien went on to discover other horror writers, including; Stephen King, Clive Barker, Richard Laymon and Shaun Hutson. Each offering a unique insight into the world of horror, and each inspiring him, in their own way, to become a writer.
Whitby’s gothic ties and rich history also proved to be invaluable influences on his writing, and it wasn’t long before his first short story, Hyde and Seek, was published. Next came The Bed of Tulips, before Damien decided to write his first novel, The Virus.
Want to know more? Feel free to get in touch!
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